"Unfetter'd," she cried, "never leave "Oh! 'tis glorious a heart to subdue, By the conquering light of your glances : By the smile that endangers a few, And the sigh that whole dozens entrances. Unbind not a link of the chain, Stand by me each merry and grave maid; Let senators thunder in vain The ladies will still have their slave trade !" DREAM, BABY, DREAM. V. GABRIEL.] [Music by V. GABRIEL. DREAM, baby dream, the stars are glowing; Hear'st thou the stream? 'tis softly flowing. All gently glide the hours; Above no tempest lowers: Below are fragrant flowers, In silence growing. Sleep, baby, sleep, till dawn to-morrow! Why shouldst thou weep, who know'st not sorrow? So from thy future years No sadness borrow. Dream, baby, dream, thy eyelids quiver; Unfailing, gentle, pure, So shall thy life endure, JOAN TO THE MAYPOLE. [Popular in the reign of Charles the First.] All the gay lasses have lads to attend them, Jolly brave dancers, and who can mend them? Do you not see how the lord of the May There goes the lass that is only his, Or dost thou list to lose thy labour ; Kit Crowd scrape loud, Tickle up Tom with the pipe and the tabor. Now, if we hold out as we do begin, Turn and kiss, and then for a greeting. Fare thee well till the next merry meeting. LIGHT AS THISTLE-DOWN. MRS. BROOKE.] [Music by SHIELD. LIGHT as thistle-down moving, which floats on the air, OH! DEAR! WHAT CAN THE MATTER BE? OH! dear! what can the matter be? Dear dear! what can the matter be? He promised he'd buy me a fairing should please me, Oh dear what can the matter be? Dear! dear! what can the matter be? He promised he'd bring me a basket of posies, THE BLACKSMITH'S SON. L. WILLIAMS.] [Music by L. WILLIAMS, A STALWART lad is the blacksmith's son, There's vigour in his well-knit frame, Yet, like a child, sweet Cicely The village pride is lov'd and woo'd By Mark, the blacksmith's son. The baron's heir is young and gay, Of noble birth-a princely home- The baron's heir, with gold and gems, The blacksmith's son can only boast Who could but share with her his wealth, The lot she takes-the lowly one Until her life is spun, To be the humble, loving wife Of Mark, the blacksmith's son. O THOU BREEZE OF SPRING. MRS. HEMANS.] [Music by JOHN LODGE. O THOU breeze of spring! Hail thee, breeze of spring, O'er long buried flowers Passing not in vain, Odours in soft showers Thou hast brought again. From a funeral urn Calls not song or bloom. THE DUSTY MILLER. [ANONYMOUS, 1782.] HEY, the dusty miller, And his dusty coat; Ere he spend a groat. Dusty was the coat, Dusty was the colour; That I gat frae the miller. Hey, the dusty miller, And his dusty sack; D |